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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519325">assigned bastard at birth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies'>oncewewerezombies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputation, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Catharsis, Character Study, Cherubs (Homestuck), Gen, Major Character Injury, Prosthesis, Self-Discovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:15:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The fox condemns the trap, not himself.</p>
<p>
  <i>- Troll Kanye West</i>
</p>
<p> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0AizILfl4z4">[S] Caliborn: Enter</a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>assigned bastard at birth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When it is time, you know it is time.</p>
<p>It's like a meteor of knowledge, understanding, striking you all the way through to your bones.</p>
<p>Your bitch-sister has been quiet, sleeping, slumbering in the hinter regions of your mind, giving you your shared body over to your control. For the moment. For a time.</p>
<p>You had, <i>again</i>, wiped your face clean of her disgusting mockeries of troll flesh. Her pretensions to something besides the desirable, beautiful green scales that you both possessed. Facepaint like thick grey slime on the cloth you'd used to clean your face on, hissing and sneering at the cracked mirror that was all you had to make sure that you had removed it all. All of it. Every smidgen. </p>
<p>You had unlocked the shackle with your symbol on it and felt the ache in your jaw as you looked down on your other leg. The one still with a shackle upon it. Locked, and imprisoned.</p>
<p>And then, teeth chattering, jaw aching, you'd chewed yourself free. It had hurt, oh how it had hurt. Agonizing, terrible pain. If you'd had tear ducts, you could have wept an ocean over just how much it fucking hurt. If any fucker. Any bitch out there. Had thoughts of believing that what you had done was easy, you can tell them freely. To stick those thoughts right up their <i>ass</i>. Your stump had spouted bright red blood, candy bright and gleaming over your chamber. Toffee sugar-slick, as sweet as a candy apple. Coating the room you had once shared on fucking <i>sufferance</i> with red red red, the same way you had once upon a time shared your body.</p>
<p>Like sharing a house with assholes who insisted. On putting up their own decorations and leaving everything. In a fucking mess for <i>you</i> to clean up.</p>
<p>You hated her, your bitch of a sister. By extension of what you saw as her machinations, you had hated the world. The universe. Anyone who had offered her a scrap of solace and denied you the same. Anyone who had failed to see, how rigorous your mutual struggle had been. How she had fought just as hard as you, but had failed in the end.</p>
<p>The two of you had always been locked in a battle for supremacy. And you. Had. Won. Despite her attempts to gain allies, her attempt to paint herself as some meagre wilting flower. Something deserving of pity, of succour (lying <i>bitch</i>). You had been the cherub who had gained ascendancy. Red had won out over green, and you had gnawed your own leg off to escape the trap of her weakness. Her simpering stupidities. Her softness. Her femininity. Masculine alphahood had won, as it should. As it always had been going to.</p>
<p>You would not allow any other thought to enter your head. You have won. You have ascended.</p>
<p>You have <i>won</i>.</p>
<p>Spitting out a tooth, you reach for the prosthesis that your...ally (your friend) (your first love) has sent to you and force it into the stump of your bleeding flesh. Sobbing and screaming, you make sure to meld the metal to the  bleeding green (you don't cry) (boys don't cry) and force your flesh to take this new intrusion. Taking a deep breath, you stand.</p>
<p>On your new foot, standing tall and proud with the aid of </p>
<p>the leg of your desk</p>
<p>your gun</p>
<p>You swing it up into your arms, nestled against your body (warmth and safety) and it's your gun. A military weapon. Something worthy of you. A force of death. And you laugh, and laugh and laugh - because finally you have won. It's you. Caliborn. You've won. You are the only one in your head, you can feel the sudden echoing emptiness. It's like nothing you have ever felt before.</p>
<p>You laugh.</p>
<p>There are things happening in the multiverse, events, that you are not entirely cognisant of. They are happening. They exist. You can feel an ache in your oculars, like of balls spinning, spinning endlessly, but you're not at that point yet. You let it go. You haven't grown <i>yet</i> to that point (it's coming). There is a death coming to the multiverse, to everything. To everyone. You will be Lord over all of it, and you know it. The knowledge, the forethought aches in your sundered limb. Your body, your physicality scream at you but you soldier on.</p>
<p>You smile. You grin - with every single fucking one of your teeth. Your fangs - with a bloody hole where one of them is missing, another sacrifice for your triumph. What else can you do, when you're the half that <i>won</i>. This life, this belonging, this reality - it belongs to you. Caliborn. It doesn't belong to your snivelling wretch of a sister. Your sarswapagus had existed, waiting for the victor on your death-bed. It had been Time that had won out over Space. Entropy. Destruction. </p>
<p>You are inevitability.  The end. You are coming, and you know it. </p>
<p>You are painted in your own blood when you approach your alchemiter (your face is red, your face is warm). You put your hand to it, and you bring about the end of this second-hand world that you were hatched into. You close the loop. The blurred, burned statues of liberty fly into the black hole. All their fucked up  jpegd edges scream, and you sit and you wait. You know what is coming.</p>
<p>It's you.</p>
<p>It's your Ascension.</p>
<p>It is time. For you to Enter.</p>
<p>The world you unleash yourself onto is dead, and empty. The session is void. There is nothing you can do to change that - or can you? You find your minions, the ones with the snazzy hats. When you are <i>surprised<i> (no other word for it) by the clown, you shoot him dead on the spot.</i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He doesn't die.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>No matter what you do, he doesn't die. You shoot him full of bullets, you abuse him, you try all kinds of things. Fuck on a stick, you hate that elevator music that the voice will not stop playing. And there he is, crawling back to you with that stupid smile on his face. Waiting to serve you. After a while, you move on from trying to kill him, whether it's for fun or spite, or just because you feel as though everything should end eventually. At some point, everything, everyone deserves an ending. A stopping point. Somewhere to rest.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>You are aware that you are meant for bigger and better things. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>You are a Lord. You are called a monster. By those, who fail to appreciate your genius.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>You are an inevitability. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>You are many things, indeed. But what is important, it is that you are free.</i>
  </i>
</p>
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